


Interrogation

by CarpoMetaCarpal (VoltageInside)



Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M, Program Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageInside/pseuds/CarpoMetaCarpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interrogation goes haywire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> {{ Sark/Tron - Smut (Well, Grid-version smut.) My half of the art trade with candlehat. }}

 

Tron growled, testing the bonds that tied him down. Apparently, a simple cell wasn’t enough for him. He smirked a bit; yeah, they got that right.

But that little moment of victory vanished when the door opened.

_Sark._

Tron glowered, baring his teeth at the bitter taste in his mouth. Sark just smiled at him, circuits lighting the room with a faint red that battled his own blue.

"Well, what a pleasant… _surprise,_ " came the purr, and Tron spat at his feet.

"Oh now now. no need for that. Aren’t you supposed to set a standard for the nice young programs out there?"

"Where are they?" He growls, and Sark just smiles innocenty.

"And who, my  _darling,_  would th-“

"Damnit Sark, you know darn well know I mean! Where are they?!"

Sark steps closer, behind him, circling him in a predatory manner, and sends a chill down his spine.

"How about this, Tron," he murmurs, way too close for comfort, and Tron turns his head slightly to look. "You give me what I need, and everyone leaves happy. Hmm?"

"As if I’d tell you anything," the security program bites back. But Sark lifts his chin with a single finger, making him look him in the eye. He holds eye contact steadily, daring him to fight. But he’s taken aback with a chuckle.

"Oh no, Tron. You don’t have to tell me anything." Tron winces as his disc is removed from his back, the loss flooding him like a wave.

"So…" Sark begins, looming over him. "That program."

"What program?" Tron asks innocently, knowing full well what he meant. 

"Tsk tsk, TRON-JA, tsk tsk. I was hoping you’d be smarter than this. But, I’d be disappointed if you made this easy." Tron watched as Sark removed his own disk.  _What is he doing?_ He narrowed his eyes, watching his enemy open up his database of information, casually sifting through a certain spot. He pulled a bit of code and dragged it over to Tron’s disc.  _Oh shit._  Whatever that was, it wasn’t going to be good.

"Sure you don’t know where that program is?" Sark asked once more, kneeling behind him and curling around to meet his eyes once more.

"Positive," he growls back, not backing down.

And then his disc snaps in place.

Tron gasps, and a flood of new information assaults his mind; Sark, lying awake at night and whining his name, Sark looming over him, Tron lying naked on his bed, Sark touching his circuits, touching his own, glowing lavender and white-hot need pooling in his very coding, Tron bound and kneeling in his cell, Sark towering over him…

When he finally can get control of the flood of images, he finds himself lighting the room with a bright lavender and needy. His mouth was agape and his breath came in pants. Sark was standing over him, just like the most prominent image of them all,  _exactly_  the last image, and he lifted his head to look up at him. All those images, those thoughts, those emotions, were they real? Just a manifested bit of code, a warped memory to use against him, or were they his own raw memories and desires, simply transferred into his own disc?

"I told you before," Sark said, and his voice was an octave lower, kneeling down to level with Tron. He saw the lights on the walls darken into a royal purple, and he cursed himself for being so deeply affected. Though it was pressed into his coding, it shouldn’t affect him as much as it was. Apparently, Sark knew it, too.

"We’d have made a great team. And if you cooperate, I just may give you what you want," he whispers, and a hand is suddenly on his hip, gliding up his side, and his circuits light up violet wherever his hand roams, before fading back to the purple of before. Tron bites his lip, refuses to let out the whimper that threatens him, because he shouldn’t want it, but it’s in his  _coding_ _for user’s sake_ , and being tied down and completely at his nemesis’s will (for Sark, he knew, was not a man of Mercy,) was suddenly not a bad thing. 

Sark traced a finger over his stomach, across his chest - but avoided his T. Instead, he traced each of his left chest-stripes, and Tron bucks up desperately; growling out. He’s pleased, though, to see red circuitry turning lavender, to see it wasn’t just him being manipulated, but giving hint that Sark did, at least, want this truly. It was bizarre, it was the strangest thing that had ever happened to him, but he didn’t want it to stop. Instead, he twitches under Sark’s hand when he thumbs over the circuits on his neck, groaning out. The red program is apparently pleased, for he flushes a dark violet, darker than even he. When Sark returns to a normal color, Tron has to fight a smirk at his devilish idea. When his hand reaches his back circuit, instead of letting out the sound he wants, he transforms it into Sark’s name, and the deep purple returns. The program removes his blue opponent’s disc again, and opens a bit of coding. Tron watches his hands fumble with a bit of pride, but the feeling sweeps away when Sark does something to a bit of code that makes electricity flow through his body and makes him cry out. 

And then Sark is pressed up to him circuits against circuits and fingers circling each block on his T and the other hand locking his disc back in place and he’s straining at his restraints because he knows the interrogation wasn’t supposed to go like this, but Sark is lost in a fantasy he must have been feeding for some time, and he’s currently happy to oblige. In the end, Sark is stimulating his T, the other hand playing with the sensitive circles on his back, and he snarls as his circuits overload, numbing his finely-tuned mind and tightening his wrists against his restraints painfully.

When he finally reboots, Sark is breathing hard, clearly recovering from his own meltdown. 

"Now then," Sark says, obviously trying to regain his composure. "The program."

Tron smiles, blue circuits flashing a faint lavender.

:”What program?”


End file.
